Hot Chocolate Evenings on Cherry Street
by Ifwecansparkle
Summary: As he is leaving the shop on Cherry Street one cold winter's night, Joe Bucket runs across a pensive stranger who turns out to be most familiar after all.


**I've had it in my head to write something with a younger Wonka, one who is more open, if not more naïve. So here is my attempt: a lost moment from the Cherry Street Days. With references to a couple of other versions of the character thrown in for good measure, if you like. Please do enjoy!**

The shop on Cherry Street was on the very cusp of closing for the evening. Joe Bucket was the last remaining employee in the store, ensuring that the floors were swept and the machines properly shut down for the night. He knew that at some point during the wee hours of the morning Mr. Wonka would creep down from his flat above the store and prepare for the next day's work to his liking, but Joe didn't want to give him any more work than necessary, so he happily stayed behind and did what he could to help.

He was finally leaving the shop and locking the door behind him when he saw a form huddled on the curb outside, face hidden in the folds of a long, dark, and old fashioned looking coat.

The occasional homeless person was not a surprise to Joe, and Mr. Wonka had given all of his employees strict instructions on how to deal with these situations. He cleared his throat emphatically.

"Young man," Joe began, approaching the figure, "if you are in need of something to warm your bones, Mr. Willy Wonka would like to offer you a mug of his finest hot chocolate and a warm spot to spend an hour or so." It was the exact script that Mr. Wonka had instructed him on, and in spite of the fact that the shop was already tidied and locked up for the evening, Joe was more than willing to offer a moment of solace to this poor soul.

"No thanks," a wispy voice responded from within the coat. Slowly the mound shuddered and broke apart. The stranger lifted his head into the dim light of the street at night, revealing a pale face that Joe recognized instantly.

"Mr. Wonka!" he gasped, immediately holding out a hand to help his boss up.

"This isn't a test," Mr. Wonka said instantly, making no attempt to rise. "I don't advocate that sort of trickery, because trickery is a slippery slope to a tricky moral dilemma. But if it was," he added, "You would have passed."

Joe wasn't concerned with this roundabout compliment. "Mr. Wonka," he tried again, "What are you doing here?" The younger man had quietly bid him good evening nearly an hour ago, and Joe had naturally assumed that he had retired for a brief rest before he began preparing for the next day. Yet here he was, sitting alone in the cold, much to Joe's horror.

Rather than answering, Mr. Wonka took a long moment to peer up at the night sky, where only a handful of stars managed to struggle through the lights and the smog of the city. "It's cold," he said finally. The words were barely out of his mouth before Joe was unwinding his muffler and attempting to hand it to him. Mr. Wonka rejected it with a slight wave of his hand. Joe grudgingly returned it to its original spot around his neck and, seeing that Mr. Wonka seemed to have no intention of rising, Joe slowly eased himself onto the curb next to his employer. His joints creaked and groaned in protest, but he ignored them. He was much more concerned with Mr. Wonka's strange behavior, and what he could do to help.

"I stepped outside," he whispered, "And I thought 'gee, everything out here is so hard and dark and the edges are so sharp, and well. Gee,'" he repeated the last word with conviction. "And all of a sudden I couldn't move a muscle, so I parked myself right here."

Joe thought of his own little home, where the paint was beginning to peel, and drafts were beginning to leak in at night, and he couldn't quite find it in himself to disagree with this description of the outside world, so he didn't say anything at all.

"And I've been here ever since," Mr. Wonka admitted.

"You'll catch your death of cold like this," Joe said, echoing the wisdom he had been trying to instill in his son's mind for the past decade.

"I've been working on a candy that prevents you from catching colds," Mr. Wonka responded instantly. "I'm thinking of calling them Jumpers, so that when your mother says 'take a jumper or you'll catch a cold' you can do just that," he raised a gloved hand to the sky as if he could see a marquis sign there. "Jumpers! Sold only at Wonka's Candy Shop!" He smiled dreamily at the image, but slumped dejectedly into his previous position almost instantly.

"Sometimes I think this shop is the only good place left in the world," he confessed. "I sat here for an hour and watched thirty-two people pass me before you offered me a cup of my own hot chocolate. You memorized the script perfectly, by the way."

"I made cue cards to practice with," Joe confessed.

"Hm, good idea," Mr. Wonka praised before returning to his previous pensiveness.

"Perhaps those people didn't see you," Joe suggested.

"Well they ought to have," Mr. Wonka said, a touch sourly. "Not me, of course. I'd rather they didn't. What would the papers say? But if they aren't seeing me, who else aren't they seeing?" His look of discontent concerned Joe as much as his odd behavior, but he heard a ring of truth in the question.

"I don't know, Mr. Wonka," he admitted. "It doesn't seem fair."

"It isn't," the younger man said fiercely. "And all I have to offer those who get overlooked is a cup of hot chocolate and a chance to step out of the cold for a while."

"Still," Joe said, "So shines a good deed in a weary world."

A hint of a smile graced Mr. Wonka's face at those words. "Shakespeare. I like it," he he admitted. "And I think you've done yours for the day, so allow me to reciprocate. Would you care to join me in a cup of hot chocolate?"

"You shouldn't reopen the shop just for me," Joe protested.

"Nonsense!" Mr. Wonka responded, leaping suddenly to his feet, and offering his hand to help Joe stand as well. "I've got my heart set on it now."

"Well, if you insist," Joe agreed finally, choosing the warmth of the shop over his own chilly house, at least for the moment.

"Of course," Mr. Wonka said, smiling in earnest now. "I believe it's my civic duty. Never let it be said that I didn't notice someone who needed noticing."

And as Joe followed him inside the shop on that cold night, he believed his words.


End file.
